


Insomnia

by oddash



Series: Reconstruction [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24376087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddash/pseuds/oddash
Summary: Nightmares of the past plague Dimitri, so he goes off from some nightly training. Unbeknownst to him, someone is watching.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Series: Reconstruction [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1760074
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	Insomnia

It is a cold evening on the outskirts of Faerghus. The snow started piling along the beaten path making travel difficult. With the increase in bandit activity, few bothered to travel outside their homes regardless. The only ones foolish enough to travel at this hour were the rats and murderers.

It makes his job easier.

The battalion of Empire soldiers rest outside of a small hamlet. They’ve been camping here for days, occupying the area. He watches them, though his vision is limited due to his recent injury. It doesn’t matter. The voices in his head start to flare at sight of these wretches.

They laugh and eat, jovially as any other company but he knew what they really were- beasts. Beasts in human skin, taking advantage of Faerghus, abusing its citizens, all in service to both the traitor and that vile woman. He steadied his lance.

He crept along the brush closing in on the camp, like a monster hunting his prey. The guard at the edge of camp, happily chatting with one of the female clerics, failed to notice the monster drawing near.

With a fierce slash, he takes down the guard. The cleric screams and the others rush to gather their weapons. He ducks into the shadows as the soldiers blindly stab at the darkness. His lance overtakes them.

With each slash he hears the cries of fallen soldiers, desperate to hold their feeble defenses. They crumbled before the might of his lance. In a matter of minutes their front line falls to shreds. The lance snaps in two, unable to bear the weight of his monstrous strength. He hides within the darkness only to feel the sweltering heat of fire singe his armor from a distant magic attack. The camp’s mage hid behind the front lines with the healers. He needs to be eliminated.

He grabs a spear off of a corpse and throws it at the mage, killing him instantly. The others back away in sheer terror allowing him to quickly finish them all off with weapons from the fallen.

When the last solider fell, the voices in his head silenced. It was temporary; they always returned when he needed to hunt again.

He grabbed some of the campsite’s food and started eating ravenously, like a wild boar. The food tastes bland but it’s fresh and filling. The fire attacks from that mage damaged his chest plate and he scavenged through the camp to find a suitable replacement. He outgrew his armor and the ill-fitted equipment started interfering with combat. At last, he finds a set of black armor roughly his size and he changes.

He’s gained a number of injuries from this last skirmish and he failed to notice blood seeping through his shirt. He needs to heal these wounds before they infected. Exploring the camp’s medical tent, he pulled out some elixirs and starts drinking until he feels his wounds alleviate.

When the last laceration closes, he gathers as much food and equipment as he could carry for his journey. Though he hadn’t slept for days, he couldn’t stop here. He needed to continue towards Enbarr. He needed to stop her.

He needed to kill her.

Suddenly a rustle catches his attention. He turns to the pile of corpses and sees one of the bodies slowly moving. The corpse, still breathing, leaves a trail of blood as he tries to drag himself away. The botched wound would kill the man eventually but he couldn’t risk him reaching the village. As he approaches, the corpse screams some obscenities about a monster.

He smirks. Yes, he truly was a monster- just like the rest of them.

And then he brings his lance down.

**14 Horsebow Moon 1197**

Dimitri awoke in a cold sweat, gasping for air. The shock of another nightmare. It had been a few months since his last one but they always managed to find their way back. He groans as he stares out the pitch black window. It’ll take hours for the sun to rise.

The cracking of the fireplace interrupts the quiet backdrop as he contemplates going back to sleep. He laid down, desperately trying to relax when his head starts to pound. He winced as the throbbing pressure pounds against his skull, offering no chance at respite.

Then he heard the whispers of ghosts, long past.

_“Avenge us, Dimitri!”_

_“The One-Eyed Demon!”_

_“Abomination!”_

_Goddess, not tonight_. He shakes his head hoping to dispel the noise but to no avail. The voices only got louder and more angry. His heart starts beating rapidly. He sat up, wiping the sweat off his brow. Experience taught him the longer he stays stagnant, the louder the voices grew in his head. He needed fresh air, a chance to release some energy and tire his body out. Perhaps then he’d finally manage to get some rest. Maybe a few rounds on the training grounds could calm him.

As he shifted from his sheets, he heard the gentle snoring of his beloved wife. He gazed at her peaceful expression, almost elegant in her deep sleep while she curled underneath the covers. Much to his relief, Byleth slept blissfully unaware of Dimitri’s thrashings.

On nights where his nightmares grew overbearing, she insisted on coming with him to train. Though he protested at first, they both grew to realize her presence soothed him. She’d engage him in some light spars or coach him on his technique, like she used to as a professor. She’d even scold him for breaking equipment, like she did back when he was a student.

Some nights, the voices in his head grew too powerful. When he trained, their words took hold, attacking him at every turn. Desperate to block them out, he’d lose track of his surroundings and train with a wild, maniacal frenzy. He tarnished countless weapons, equipment, and furniture on those nights, much to his everlasting shame. Often, he’d injure himself as well- breaking his fingers against stone walls and cutting his hands on broken weapons. No matter how much he tried to control himself, the same terrible outbursts arose again and again, a reminder of his boorish nature.

Yet when Byleth is at his side, the voices lose their power. Her compassionate demeanor alleviated the worse of his outbursts. She always knew to stop him before he went too far. She helped him clean up his messes. Above all, she never judged him, even on days when he hated himself for his pathetic displays.

He loved her more deeply than he could express in words and he beamed as he looked down at her body, realizing that the thick sheets couldn’t hide the sight of her swollen belly.

On their last trip to Fhirdiad, they learned of Byleth’s pregnancy and they both ecstatically started preparations to welcome another child. For all her distress over her seemingly 'not aging' earlier this year, he suspected it was a comfort for her to hear the physician tell her that her body was moving past the prime for childbearing. Though he wished she had shared her concerns with him sooner, he gratefully accepted the happy decade of life and the wonderful family they had made together. In a few more months, their family was going to grow larger.

He contemplated asking if she wants to keep him company on the training grounds, but he couldn’t bear to wake her. She’d been struggling with sleep these past few weeks and it was comforting to see her sleeping so calmly.

His head ached again.

Gently, he sneaks away from their soft, warm bed and quietly seeks for a change in clothes. He quickly changes from his loungewear, careful not to make a sound. Gloves, riding pants, his turtleneck, some boots, his cloak- nothing too heavy for a light training session. Taking one last glance at his gorgeous wife, he stealthy leaves.

Only the watchmen patrol the castle at night and even then, they were stationed at the gates. Within the castle walls, no one stirred. Occasionally a stray maid or monk might catch a glimpse of the King wandering at night but most knew better than to disturb him at this hour.

Walking down the corridors, he remembers his promise to Dedue and contemplates waking him. Years ago, Dedue asked to join, or at least be aware of, Dimitri’s nightly outings. Though the monastery became an impregnable fortress after the war, that did not deter foolhardy thieves from attempting to breach the castle walls and threatening the monks. Occasionally, assassins attempted to break in as well, though they never got very far due to the efforts of the knights and those who lived in Abyss.

Ever a safeguard, Dedue worried for Dimitri’s safety so it became a habit to invite him on his nightly sessions when Byleth was unable to attend. The two were remarkably similar in both their stoicism and protectiveness. Like Byleth, he served as a steady voice of reason and stopped Dimitri when his frenzy grew too much.

However, over the past moon, Dedue had taken on a lot more missions with Gustave. With his retirement approaching, Gustave nominated Dedue as his successor, despite the opposition from some of the Kingdom nobles and older knights. They argued against a ‘Duscur animal’ assuming such a high position within the Royal Guard; so naturally, Dimitri approved Gustave’s choice.

He could think of no one more dedicated or more trustworthy than Dedue. Thus, Gustave took Dedue under his wing and began rigorously training him for the position. Though Dedue showed no signs of fatigue nor did he ever complain, Dimitri knew from experience that Gustave’s training drained stamina from the greatest of knights. His old friend needed to rest. It was for the best to leave him alone this night.

His footsteps echoed across the empty halls, its repetitive music soothing his troubled mind. It was easier to maneuver without the interrogation or judgement of others. The voices of strangers only gave strength to the ghosts inside his head. Finally he reaches the Knights’ Hall.

The Knights Hall served as one of his favorite places at the academy back when he was a student. He eased himself to the tranquil surroundings, absorbing the blissful silence. The dim candlelight illuminated the training weapons and straw dummies, providing a familiar comfort. Then the voices started whispering again.

_You pig!_

_Why are you here? Why haven’t you given us more bodies?_

_We will never be satisfied._

Desperate to silence them, he grabs a training lance and prepares his regiment.

He swings fervently against the training dummy. With each slash, he felt his head clear. Battle always cleared his head. Determined, his slashes increase in speed. Beads of sweat roll down his face but Dimitri ignores them.

He switches maneuvers and starts to stab the dummy. He thrusts his lance against the dummy’s weak points until he hears a devastating crack. The head of the lance flew off and imbeds itself on a separate target. He scowls at the broken equipment, his heart racing in frustration.

“Pathetic piece of equipment!”

He threw the broken shaft of the lance aside and it rattled against the floor. Sweat seeps through his clothes and he takes his gloves off to wipe his brow. The voices in his head grew louder.

_“Why? Why are you still alive!”_

_“You Monster!”_

_“Avenge us, Dimitri!”_

_“You don’t know anything about love or compassion, do you monster?_

He drops the gloves as he starts to claw at his temples. The unbearable pounding in his head eats away at his sense of recognition and his vision starts to blur. Desperate, he eyes the training dummy and his fists clench.

He lunges, viciously pummeling the straw dummy with his bare fists. Over and over, each punch bringing him satisfaction as the dummy’s head crumples and caves under his strength. The cheap armor dents and falls apart unable to handle the full force of his might.

With a powerful strike, he knocks the dummy clean from its stand.

He watches as straw floats down and scatters across the ground. A twinge of guilt creeps in as he stares at the huge mess he created.

He looks down at his hands, raw and bruised, and regrets not bringing gauntlets with him this evening.

He brushes those thoughts aside when he realized the voices in his head stopped. At last, some peace for the evening. A quick application of a vulnerary to heal his wounds and he might finally get some sleep. He reaches for a broom to sweep up the scattered straw when he hears a small creak. His skin pricks at the sound and his mind goes back to the assassination attempts of the past.

“Who goes there?” He snarled, grabbing another training lance for defense. The figure peaked from behind a pillar.

“Papa?”

His blood ran cold. It was Avel.

Dropping his lance, Dimitri tried to hide his fear. How much did his son see?

“Avel? Son, what are you doing out of bed?”

He took a step forward but to his shock, Avel started shaking his head. The boy’s lips start trembling, unable to look his father in the eye with his hands shaking against the pillar.

Oh Goddess, Dimitri terrified him.

“Avel,” his tone softening. “Come here.”

Avel fervently shook his head as he pushed closer against the pillar.

Dimitri’s heart raced. Oh Goddess, no. For years now he’s managed to hide his bad nights from his children. Those desperate, frightening nights where the voices in his head drew out his violent tendencies. He knew it would scare them. If they knew his sins and his horrible, monstrous actions- they could no longer look at him with reverence or love. They’d hate him, scorn him as many others had done in the past. His greatest fear was driving them away. He couldn’t live with the disgrace.

He watches as Avel starts whimpering, confused with his father’s savage display. Guilt and shame washed over Dimitri as he powerlessly watched his youngest son tear up. More than his sense of shame, Dimitri’s desire to comfort him overwhelmed him.

He crouches down and using the softest tone he could muster, gently pleads.

“Avel, your papa would never hurt you. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Avel stares, unsure what to do. Cautiously, he moves away from the pillar and Dimitri initially fears he may away in terror. Yet slowly, the boy manages to walk over to his father’s arms, allowing Dimitri to pull him in for a tight embrace.

As the boy tucked himself against his father’s gentle hug, the tears started to flow more strongly. The boy pushed his face further in his father’s cloak and Dimitri starts stroking his head, grateful that he didn’t run. Gently, Dimitri raised himself up and gradually starts rocking him, like he used to when Avel was an infant. Eventually, the boy’s tears subside.

“Papa,” he whimpered, quietly. “Why did you break those things?”

Surprised at his youngest’s question, Dimitri stammered a weak reply. “I- I suppose I wasn’t thinking. Your papa breaks a lot of things when he isn’t thinking.”

“It’s scary.”

“I know it is,” he whispered, kissing his forehead. “I won’t do it again, I promise.”

Never again. He never wanted to make any of his children cry like this ever again. The boy sniffled against his father’s cloak, rubbing his tears and running snot against the fabric but Dimitri didn’t mind.

Staring at his father’s bruised hands, Avel asked, “Does that hurt?”

Dimitri feigned a smile, hoping to put him at ease.

“Yes but I’ll get them fixed. Don’t worry.”

“Do you hurt your hands a lot, papa?”

His words got caught in his throat, too scared to give an honest answer. Dimitri nodded. Avel’s eyes moistened as he started to tear up again.

“Don’t. I don’t like it. No.”

The young boy continued to speak but his heavy tears and hiccups made his speech unintelligible. Dimitri wiped his tears.

“Avel. Please don’t cry. It’s not your fault, it’s not anyone’s fault. Papa has some bad nights, that’s all. But I won’t hurt myself anymore.”

“Promise?” The boy asked, his eyes still glistening from his tears.

“I promise. A knight of Faerghus never goes back on his word.”

With those words of comfort, Avel laid his head against Dimitri’s shoulder, calming down at last. Dimitri stroked his son’s head and brushed his fingers delicately through his green hair, admiring its soft texture.

He never did well with delicate things; his massive strength and poor dexterity destroyed all but the sturdiest of objects. Children were especially delicate. They absorbed everything around them- every compliment, every argument, every fear. When they had no one to guide them- well, he knew how lonely and frightening it could be. He couldn’t bear to see any of his children suffer like that.

He brushed his thumb on Avel’s cheek when an odd thought occurred to him. “Avel, what are you doing out here?”

The boy fidgeted, as he often did when his nanny or one of the monks caught him getting into trouble.“Um, I had a bad dream. I woke up and I couldn’t go to sleep. I looked at the window and I saw you.”

“Ah, so you followed me?” Avel nods and Dimitri felt his lips rise up to create a little smile.

“I suppose that makes us similar. Papa also had a bad dream.” The boy stared at his father. It seemed the thought of his brave father possibly having nightmares never occurred to him.

“You have bad dreams too?”

“Of course.”

The boy hummed. “Becca says when you have a bad dream you should tell someone.”

“Oh, did she now? Your nanny’s a very smart lady. So why didn’t you tell her about your bad dream?”

Avoiding an answer, Avel buries his face in his father’s cape.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.”

He was always afraid of hurting his children but perhaps his children weren’t as fragile as he originally believed.

He noticed his son’s eyelids droop as the boy’s breathing slowed.

“Avel, do you want to know a secret?” The boy looks up, trying to brush away his drowsiness.

“Your papa has many bad dreams.”

“What’s in your bad dreams?”

“I’ll tell you one day, when you’re older.” Avel lets out a soft whine before shifting into a more comfortable position in his arms. The way he slept in his arms reminded Dimitri of his belovedso much. He planted a kiss on his head and started heading towards the door.

“Come now, let’s get you back to bed.” Gently, he felt Avel tug on his cloak.

“Can I have a snack first?”

Dimitri couldn’t help but chuckle. Avel really did take after his mother. “Alright. Snack first and then bed.”

After putting Avel to rest, Dimitri snuck back into his chambers. His wife, still peacefully sleeping, didn’t stir and it gave Dimitri a chance to start undressing. As he placed his boots aside, he accidentally knocked his elbow against his wife’s vanity. He sighs, frustrated at his clumsiness and the inevitable scolding that was soon to follow.

Sure enough, the sound of rushing sheets catches his attention.

“Dear?” Byleth asked, groggily attempting to open her eyes. “Where did you go?”

“I went out to train for a bit.”

“Did you bring someone with you?”

He sighed, sullenly shaking his head. “No I didn’t. It foolish of me.”

“Dimitri…” she whined, struggling to sit up under her additional weight. He tenderly placed himself over her and guided her back down to their soft bed.

“Don’t fret, my love. I will bring Dedue with me next time,” he breathed, kissing her. “For now, let’s both go to sleep.” He crawled underneath the covers and wrapped himself around his expectant beloved.

“Hmm, you’re sweaty,” she groaned. His cheeks heat up as he realizes that the change in clothes was not enough to mask the embarrassing sweat that followed from rigorous training.

“Sorry maybe I should-“ Before he could rise, Byleth somnolently grabbed his arm.

“No, no it’s fine. Stay,” she yawned before her eyelids closed, returning to her peaceful slumber.

His beloved certainly had odd moods but he didn’t mind. He nuzzled himself against her and indulged in the bedroom’s wonderful tranquility.

Tomorrow he would have to apologize to the stablehands and the monks for creating such a mess in the Knights’ Hall. He needed to replace the training dummy and the training lances. Probably offer funds for damages. He’d also have to explain his actions to both Byleth and Dedue given that he betrayed his promise, and he will have to endure their lectures.

Despite that, he felt strangely at ease. This evening gave him a chance to share a part of himself that he normally concealed from others and with one of his children, no less. Though he disliked this side of himself, he knew was capable of revealing to his family, someday.

He fell asleep with no voices to interrupt him.

**Author's Note:**

> Since my last story was focused on Byleth, I decided to make this one more focused on Dimitri. One of these days, I'll give him a story that doesn't start off with him waking up from a horrible nightmare.
> 
> Avel is about 4~5 in this story. And the reason he didn't want to tell anyone is because he was worried Kain would make fun of him.


End file.
